


Bishop's Lament

by Azar



Series: Playing Pieces [2]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: Backstory, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Myth Arc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-20
Updated: 2012-08-20
Packaged: 2017-11-12 12:51:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/491219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azar/pseuds/Azar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The man known only as Deep Throat regrets the chances not taken.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bishop's Lament

I wonder if she knows I'm watching. I doubt it somehow; it's been so long since I really looked at the woman she's grown up to be that I'm sometimes surprised I recognize her anymore. She's felt that absence too, I know. If she didn't, she wouldn't have started to drift away from me in the rare moments when I did try to reach her. She's not even mine anymore; she's theirs. Like I was. Like I still am when the fear of what they'll do to me outstrips the whispers of conscience that I haven't been able to silence in years. She's theirs, heart and soul and life. 

How did it happen? How the hell did I let them get my daughter? 

She should have been safe. She should have been a chess prodigy. She should have been a naive college student, just beginning to get a taste of the real world, not a premature lurker on the edge of a reality most people will never see. With me so often gone, emotionally if not physically, this should never have been able to touch her. That was my justification, at least. That way I didn't have to admit that by distancing myself, I was letting them raise my daughter. 

I should have followed Bill Mulder's lead, and tried to get out long before now, when she was still young enough to escape. But I was afraid, afraid of losing her like Bill lost his Samantha. Especially since I didn't have another one to take comfort in, to train as a warrior in the battle already lost by our generation. 

So I stole his son instead, and lost my little girl in trying to hold onto her. 

I wouldn't do this for her. My own daughter, and I wouldn't risk my life for her as I will do tonight for another man's son. If she knew what I'd done, she would know that. She'd know, and yet she wouldn't hate me for it. She'd forgive me without even realizing why. Just like her mother did so many times. 

I wish she could meet him, my hot-headed pupil. Maybe if she saw the fire in those eyes she'd understand why I chose him to fight for the justice I never had the courage to seek myself. They were both born to the same heritage, but his father did not abandon him to it. Through loss, through anger, through abuse but not neglect he drove him away from it. He will be scarred forever by that childhood, but at least he will shun the fold because of it. 

I want her to meet him. I want him to save her from the world I deserted her to, from the 'uncles' who only love her potential, the way her beautiful face will open doors from them. Those blue eyes, so like her mother's. Only her mother's eyes were so warm, liquid and pure like the glittering waters of Hanauma Bay. My little girl has never known anything to melt the ice in that stare. I want him to see her and sweep her into his misguided vengeance, because anything would be better than this. 

For my daughter's sake, I could almost deny him the comfort of his loyal skeptic, his disbelieving savior, so that he would go to her instead. Almost. 

This is all I have to show for my life, a daughter who doesn't know me, and a protege who doesn't even know my name. And a twisted humor of fate forcing me to choose between the two, but leaving me no choice. For how can I choose that which is no longer mine? 


End file.
